


Keep Your Eyes on Me

by NuclearNik



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Hogwarts Eighth Year, Porn with Feelings, Smut, Yule Ball (Harry Potter)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-25
Updated: 2019-12-25
Packaged: 2021-02-18 13:00:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,997
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21960985
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NuclearNik/pseuds/NuclearNik
Summary: In the midst of planning an end-of-year ball, Hermione finds an intriguing way to de-stress.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy
Comments: 44
Kudos: 547
Collections: Dumpster Fire SS 2019, Good Girl Hermione





	Keep Your Eyes on Me

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LadyKenz347](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyKenz347/gifts).



> Happy Christmas, LK! I was more than a little nervous when I got your name for the SS exchange but I’m very happy I did. You’re an absolute gem and I hope you enjoy this little thing <3
> 
> Thank you to [MrsRen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MrsRen/pseuds/MrsRen) and [MidnightValkyrie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MidnightValkyrie/pseuds/MidnightValkyrie) for pre-reading! And a million thank you’s to [dreamsofdramione](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bugggghead/pseuds/dreamsofdramione) for going above and beyond with this and lending her exceptional alpha/beta skills to this story to make it so much better. She’s a rockstar.

Hermione Granger was barely hanging on by a thread to a semblance of sanity.

She _needed_ order.

Free time had always made her restless, and she'd taken up the post of Head Girl and planned the Yule Ball this year to fill those empty hours, but as she considered the barely organised chaos in her current state, she felt overwhelmed. 

The preparations were far more involved than Hermione had originally thought. There were _so_ many moving parts.

Like the eight hundred glasses to order from the glass-blowing shop in Diagon Alley, and the long, narrow tables to drag out of storage to line the walls of the Great Hall, and coordinating with the kitchen elves regarding food and drink on the day of the Ball.

There had to be enough chairs, but also enough floor space to dance. It was a delicate balance. The decorations had to be perfect, and magic could only do so much; some of it had to be done the old-fashioned way. Invitations had to be made, duplicated, and distributed. Headmistress McGonagall had requested that they invite some alumni, so Hermione had to make sure their invitations got to them, too. 

At the moment, it was teetering on unmanageable.

Her fellow Head and prat-extraordinaire was meant to be helping, but Malfoy had been more of a hindrance than anything else, undermining her authority and generally being a wanker. Granted, even she could appreciate that he was a wanker who was nice to look at. When his mouth wasn’t twisted into a sneer, his lips almost looked soft. And no one needed to know that on the occasional lonely night, she thought about what they might feel like against her own, or how nice it would be to muss up his perfectly-styled hair in the heat of the moment.

In meetings with the prefects, he leaned against a wall like some brooding James Dean, only ever offering anything to the discussion when he was correcting someone. Sure, he kept up on monitoring patrols and checking in with the prefects while she was busy planning, but she felt like she had to handle everything to do with the party, and it was driving her batty. She was certain he was sore because she’d been the one to get things moving with the Ball, taking charge with preparations. She hadn’t meant anything by it. They were a team, that was something they had both agreed on, but Hermione wondered when he would stop assuming she was going out of her way to spite him or trip him up. 

Though she was more than a little overwhelmed, Hermione would never admit such a weakness, especially to her haughty co-planner. Instead, she kept her chin up and pushed through. 

Her breaking point was a week before the Ball, which found her in the Hogwarts kitchens, the room warm and bustling with activity. Little elves scurried about, already prepping for the feast. There would be a full meal and dessert along with several choices in drinks. 

Clipboard in hand, Hermione was supervising, striking through each item on the list as she confirmed them with the house-elves.

Instead of even pretending he gave a damn, Malfoy was lounging back in a chair in the corner. Hermione was ready to throw something at him, perhaps the big silver bowl an elf at the counter was using to mix cake batter.

The infuriating cad couldn’t keep his mouth shut, and when he made a comment about her ability to handle the whole thing, she saw red around the edges of her vision.

“You know, Granger, you could ask Daphne or someone else for help. It’s perfectly understandable that you wouldn’t know how to throw an event of this calibre.”

Hermione took a deep breath in through her nose, fingers pinching the bridge as she exhaled. Pain thudded to life between her eyes in the beginnings of a tension headache.

“ _What_?”

“Because you’re a Muggle-born.” It was silent in the kitchen—even the elves froze in place, intuition telling them something was about to explode. He said it matter-of-factly, without heat, as if he were just stating the truth. Despite the lack of vitriol behind it, it set off fire in her veins, heat crawling up her chest and neck until she was sure it mottled her skin.

“Pure-blood girls are taught how to do all this from a young age. I suppose we finally found one thing swotty Granger isn’t good at. Put it in the history books.”

Hermione stared down at her hands clutching the clipboard, her grip so firm that her knuckles were white.

“Excuse me?”

“It’s not a bad thing, Granger. I’m just saying, even Astoria could handle this and she’s still just a kid.”

Eyes screwed tightly shut, she stood in place, hoping he might just disappear once she opened them again. _“You’re just saying?”_

He was acting so flippant, as if he hadn’t just sliced through to the core of her insecurities. As if he hadn’t cut through to her worries that no matter how successful she was academically, no matter what she accomplished, it still wouldn’t matter. It would never be enough because she was different.

Because to him, she’d never truly be part of this world.

She spoke through gritted teeth, lips barely moving around the words. “If you think I’m doing such a poor job, why don’t you take over?”

Opening her eyes but refusing to look at him, she shoved the clipboard onto the counter, and took measured steps until she was out of the kitchen. She sped up then, stumbling down the hallway in her haste to get away.

The thump from the kitchen’s heavy wooden door echoed down the hall, and Hermione moved even faster, ducking into an empty classroom and shutting the door behind her.

When she was finally alone, her throat grew thick, and she had to deliberately breathe in and out to keep the tears from falling.

_Three beats in, six beats out._

_Three beats in, six beats out._

_Three beats in, two beats out._

Her body started to regulate itself, her stuttered breaths slowing down and the sting in her eyes fading.

Facing the lone window in the drafty room, she stood with her arms crossed and her hands latched onto either of her elbows, staring at the frosty glass.

There was the scrape of metal against wood as the door handle jiggled, prompting Hermione to spin towards the sound, drawing her wand and cursing herself for not remembering to lock the door behind her.

The very last person she wanted to see poked his infuriating, stupid head in the room.

When he saw the tip of her wand pointed at him, he shuffled sideways through the door, hands up to ward her off as he inched closer.

“Lower your wand, Granger. I just came to talk.”

“I don’t want to talk,” Hermione spit out. “You already did enough talking for both of us.”

“Okay, fine. I don’t want to talk, I want to apologise.”

Her only response was raising one eyebrow as if to say, “Go on.”

“I didn’t mean what I said.”

Hermione scoffed. “Yes, you did.”

He was only an arm’s length away from her now. “Okay, I did, but not in the way you took it.”

“Right.”

“I’m serious. You—you’re different. In a good way. You’re not an insipid party girl who only cares about wizards for the money they can bring to the table. I’m sick of it. Sick of the colour coordinating, and the inane back and forth of she likes me, she likes me not. You don’t care about that shite, Granger. It’s fucking refreshing.”

It was difficult to tell if he was being sincere or if he was playing her, manipulating her in some invisible chess game she didn’t know how to win.

Several more steps and they were face to face, so close that she could see a tiny freckle by his eye she’d never noticed before. 

She was still so angry, not just at him, but at the utter unfairness of life. As she stood there steaming, it was like her wires crossed, like desire was now hooked to rage and the angrier she got, the more she wanted him.

Without giving herself a chance to second-guess the strange swirl of emotions, she grabbed his tie, dropping her wand to the floor and yanking him down to her.

They met like clashing swords, all teeth and tongues and hard-pressing mouths.

Hermione’s hands tugged the tails of his shirt from his trousers, fingers fumbling with the row of buttons on his oxford as she tried to undress him, desperate to feel his skin against hers.

She’d have gotten his shirt all the way off if she had just followed his lead. Instead of clumsily trying to undo her shirt, he twisted his hands in the fabric and yanked, ripping the buttons from their former home and sending them clattering to the ground.

His eyes were fixed on her chest as it moved rapidly up and down with her heaving breaths. 

Putting her hands on his chest, she pushed him back just a little, just enough so she could reach behind her to undo the clasp of her bra.

The loosened garment fell to the floor, and Hermione just stood there, nude from the waist up in a drafty classroom with the last person she’d ever thought she’d be engaging with in pleasures of the flesh.

His gaze felt like it was burning her, passing over her skin with all the intensity of a wildfire. For the briefest moment, she wondered what he thought of her, if he liked what he saw or if he was disappointed by the reveal.

It was a stupid thought, quickly pushed out of her mind when Malfoy sunk to his knees before her, hands steady on her hips.

He kissed and licked his way over her belly, nipping at her hip bones, teasing her.

Finally, she felt his surprisingly calloused hands slide up her thighs, her breath catching when he pushed her skirt up to her waist.

His hands guided her own to the hem of her skirt, and in a rough voice, he said, “Keep them here. Hold this up for me, all right? That’s all you have to do.”

Words were beyond her in that moment, so she jerked her head in a nod.

“Good girl.” The crooked smile that spread across his face made her breath catch.

She stood there, silently watching him. It was like she couldn’t look away, mesmerised.

His palm slid over the heat between her legs, separated from her skin by the fabric of her knickers. Her only thought in that moment was that she wished she hadn't dropped her wand because she’d do anything right about now to feel his skin on hers _immediately._

When the heel of his palm started pressing into her just right, her head fell back to clunk against the wall. She felt his hand pull away, and she chased it, grinding her hips towards him, desperate for the pressure to return.

A low laugh drifted from his spot between her legs, his hot breath against her over-sensitised skin nearly too much.

“Patience, Granger. I’m just getting started.”

Before he’d even finished speaking, he tucked his fingers into the waistband of her knickers, pulling them down in little increments, so slowly she wanted to scream.

His face was dead level with her centre, eyes burning into her as his fingers slipped over her flesh, pushing into her to gather moisture before sliding up to her clit, wet fingers rubbing slightly back and forth. When her hips started moving in rhythm with his hand, he pulled back again, and this time Hermione wanted to smack him upside the head. 

She valiantly refrained from violence and was rewarded when he used his thumbs to spread her open for his mouth.

His lips and tongue felt like heaven as he devoured her with the gusto of a man consuming his last meal. One hand slipped up to her chest, cupping her breast and squeezing before his fingers moved to her nipples, plucking just hard enough to sting, giving each special attention.

The sounds echoing off the stone walls were obscene. 

They’d moved so quickly that she couldn’t remember if either of them had thought to put up a silencing charm. Just in case, she bit down on her lip, hard, barely stifling the whimpers that felt like they were being forced from her throat.

It was _so_ good. _He_ was _so_ good.

The sensations were overwhelming, and when she started to buck her hips up into his face, he pressed them back against the wall, saying, “Uh-uh,” and holding her still.

The feeling of him holding her down combined with what his talented mouth was doing sent sparks shooting through veins, and soon she crested, muscles spasming from the pleasure. She bit into her bottom lip so hard she tasted copper.

Somehow, through the whole thing, she’d managed to keep a tight hold on the hem of her skirt. Her hands hadn’t moved. She hadn’t had to do anything, just stand there and feel.

Having someone completely dedicated to her pleasure was a heady thing.

She was lost in a post-orgasmic haze, not realising she was still clutching the fabric of her skirt with her knickers around her ankles until he slid them back up and rose from the floor. He uncurled her fingers and let the skirt drop, digging his thumb into the fleshy part of her palm to ease the tightness from clenching her fingers so intensely.

When he’d done both hands, he kissed her again, quick but firm, giving her the barest taste of herself on his lips.

It was odd, to say the least. 

Hermione wasn’t sure what she’d expected, but it wasn’t the Malfoy standing before her massaging her hands.

Considering the impetus of their coupling, she’d thought he’d be rough or angry—not attentive and dare she say, affectionate afterwards. 

Draco Malfoy was showing her an entirely different side of himself, and she was intrigued by the little glimpse of something more she saw.

“Don’t you want to—I can—”

“Don’t worry about it, Granger.” His lips twisted into a smirk. “You can owe me one.”

He pulled away and slipped his wand from his pocket, pointing it at her destroyed shirt and making it knit itself back together.

Turning to face the wall in a belated attempt at modesty, Hermione swiped her bra off the floor, fastening it before she felt a tap on her shoulders. She turned and Draco was standing there, holding her shirt out so she could slip her arms into it.

“Why did you do that?”

“Why did I get you off?”

Looking up from the row of buttons on her shirt, she said, “Well, I wouldn’t have put it so crudely, but yes.”

“Because I could. Because I’ve wanted to pin you up against a wall on numerous occasions. It was simply a case of ‘right place, right time.’”

His second reason gave her pause. Was he telling the truth? Was he attracted to her before today or was it all a lie? 

“Plus, you spitting fire at me turns me on. You’re fucking glorious when you’re riled up,” he continued.

She watched him, searching for something. What she was looking for, she wasn’t sure. Sincerity, perhaps?

“Come on. We need to get back to start patrols.”

He held open the door, and they stepped out of the dark classroom into the torch-lit corridor.

* * *

On the afternoon of the Ball, Pansy and a few other girls elbowed their way into the Head’s common room to set up shop. Before Hermione knew it, there were dresses flung on chairs, various ribbons on the coffee table, and a fine mist of dust in the air from someone patting on too much rouge. They were a group of unlikely companions, but they’d all had more than any one lifetime’s worth of division and unrest, and this year had ushered in a new era for building bridges and mending the fences of tenuous friendships. 

In one corner of the room, Luna was weaving some silvery thing through Ginny’s hair, and Hermione was only a little surprised that Ginny was sitting still. It was rather hard to say no to Luna when she turned those bright, beautiful eyes on anyone.

Over by the window, Lavender Brown sighed dramatically. She’d been standing there for ages with her wand pointed at her hair, trying different styles and being disappointed with each one. 

“Oh, stop it, Lav.” Elegance dripped from Daphne Greengrass’s very fingertips. There was no doubt she’d get the pouty girl’s hair fixed up. “Come here, I’ll help you.”

“Granger, you’re next!” Hermione had to resist saluting at Daphne’s words. The witch quietly commanded attention just by existing.

Hermione had planned to wear a simple black dress she’d had for years, but when she began to slip it on, Astoria intervened, snatching it from her and shoving a silky replacement into her hands.

It was a deep burgundy with a nipped-in waist that sloped into a skirt that looked very clingy—too clingy for Hermione’s liking. She preferred not to look like a sausage link, thank you very much, but Astoria wouldn’t let up until she tried it on.

“Trust me on this, Hermione. You’ll be irresistible.”

With an eye roll, she did as asked, certain she’d hate the silly dress.

It took a minute to wiggle into the tight-fitting gown, but she made it, smoothing her hands over the material before turning towards the make-shift mirror propped against the wall.

_Wow._

As she stood there, shifting left and right and watching as the fabric rippled around her, Hermione almost didn’t recognise herself.

The fabric she’d thought would be too tight smoothed over her curves, hugging her in all the right places and flowing down to the floor like a waterfall. 

Just as Hermione turned around to show the room, Pansy caught sight of her, a whistle sliding between her lips as she looked Hermione up and down.

“Holy hell, woman. Astoria, look at the hot little bod Granger’s been hiding beneath her robes!”

Pansy’s exclamation caught the attention of the rest of the group, and they came scurrying over, surrounding Hermione as they ‘oohed’ and ‘aahed.’

“Beautiful!”

“The colour is perfect on you, Hermione.” 

“I’d do you,” Pansy helpfully piped up. 

Getting them to back off was like shooing away a flock of pixies, and Hermione felt warmth in her heart from the carefree looks on the faces of the students around her. It was high time they were allowed to be teenagers, to have fun and live their lives.

They scattered, once more busy with getting ready. 

“There.” With one final touch, Daphne was done working her magic. Lavender was now primping in front of the mirror with her new hair-do, satisfaction clear on her face. 

Hermione was hoping she could subtly escape before Daphne cornered her and attacked her mess of hair. She was not that lucky.

“Over here, Hermione.” She complied, albeit reluctantly, settling into the chair in front of a small mirror. 

Before she knew it, her hair fell in uniform waves around her shoulders, pinned back in intricate braids at her temples. It was beautiful, and Hermione needed to know what Daphne had done because no matter how hard she’d tried, she’d never been able to tame her hair with anything but copious amounts of Sleekeazy's.

“How did you do that?” Hermione asked, fingers coming up to trace along the braids and watching Daphne behind her in the mirror.

“Years of lessons from my mother.”

“Will you teach me? The charms you used, I mean.”

With the most ladylike giggle, Daphne said, “I’d be happy to. I should have anticipated you asking.” She rested her hands on Hermione’s shoulders, squeezing gently before releasing her and waving the next girl over.

Now with nothing else to do, Hermione picked up a book from the coffee table to read while she waited. Just as she went to flop into an armchair, Astoria caught her elbow and positioned her as if she were a doll, insisting that she sit _just so_ to avoid unseemly wrinkles in the fabric.

* * *

The steady stream of people flowing into the Great Hall made for an electric atmosphere. Hermione stood to one side of the heavy wooden doors, Malfoy on the other. Her nerves and desire for tonight to be a success made her palms a little sweaty. She surreptitiously wiped them on her dress, taking a deep breath to steady herself before shaking more hands. 

Since _The Incident_ , as she'd dubbed it, she and Malfoy had been coexisting in relative peace. With their packed schedules, they were rarely in the same room for more than a few minutes. He’d been going out when she’d been coming in, and they’d exchanged a nod each time they passed each other. He’d even taken a more active role in the planning, thank Merlin, relieving some of the pressure on Hermione. 

The event she’d been so stressed about was going well so far, and Malfoy had been the perfect debutante, packing away his stupid smirk and snarky comments for the evening.

When the last attendee walked into the Hall, Hermione looked around for her date.

Some tall Ravenclaw seventh year whose name she couldn’t remember had asked her to go with him, and she’d agreed, but only with the stipulation that she would be busy towards the beginning of the night and might get pulled away to deal with any issues. 

Through the open doors, Hermione could see into the winter fantasy land they'd created. It looked so perfect, and Hermione was proud of the hard work they’d all put in to make it a great success.

The area around the podium had been transformed into a snow globe. A thin barrier bubble surrounded it, flakes of snow falling consistently from the top to dust the ground. A beautiful ice statue of a Pegasus in flight sat in the middle, proud and elegant. They were intricate, stunning bits of magic that Professor McGonagall had employed to make the evening even lovelier. The looks of wonder that graced each visitor’s face when they laid eyes on the splendour of the Great Hall made all the hard work worth it.

Hermione had hoped that Malfoy would go off with whatever girl he had on his arm for the evening so she could find her date and enjoy the night _away_ from him. Unfortunately, her date seemed to be running late.

“Going stag, Granger?” 

“Is it so hard to believe that I might have a date?”

He raised a hand to pacify her. “Easy. It was an innocent question. Though, your defensiveness gives me a clue.”

“He’s meeting me here.”

“Who?”

The question flustered her as her mind raced for the name of the poor fellow accompanying her to the dance. “He’s… a Ravenclaw.”

“Wow. You two are obviously very close. Have you met the parents?”

“Sod off, Malfoy. I have a lot on my mind if you hadn’t noticed.”

His lips twisted in a smirk as he opened his mouth to deliver some barb, she was sure, but he stopped at the venomous look she shot him.

“And you? Where’s your flavour of the week?”

He pressed his hand to his chest. “You wound me. I’m a perfect gentleman.”

They both knew that wasn't true, and she breathed out a laugh at the ridiculous comment.

He leaned closer to her as if sharing a secret. "Pansy and I usually go to these things together, but love is a fickle thing." He sighed dramatically and looked to the sky.

When Hermione said nothing, just stared at him with a raised eyebrow, he dropped the act. "Fine. In truth, she's had her eye on Theo for ages. Finally worked herself up to asking him, leaving me in the dust."

"You poor thing," she said, letting her words drip with sarcasm. "As if you couldn't waltz in there and have any girl you want on your arm."

"There aren't any girls I want on my arm _in there."_

The emphasis on the last words was not lost on Hermione. Looking sharply to the left, she expected to see amusement or perhaps a sneer on Malfoy's face, not this strange combination of sincerity and… _warmth_?

He looked as if he wanted to say more, but Hermione wasn't ready to hear it. She glanced at her watch—Muggle technology that she couldn't part with—to see that it had been ten minutes now, and still no sign of her missing Ravenclaw.

Before Malfoy could speak, she gathered up her dress and said, "Right then. It appears I am escorting myself tonight. I'm going in, and you better too because I refuse to be left to play chaperone alone all night."

As she made her way through the crowd, stopping here and there to chat, she felt his presence behind her. When she reached one of the tables along the far wall holding the refreshments, she fiddled with a stack of napkins, trying to look busy.

Warm breath on her neck drew her attention to Malfoy where he stood just behind her left shoulder, and she spun to face him.

“We might as well dance, Granger. We look pretty pathetic standing here. There's only so long one can go about pretending to have great interest in the punch.”

She stood there for a moment without responding, enjoying the way he shifted uncomfortably at the awkward silence as she pretended to ponder his suggestion. “Fine. Being the hosts, I suppose we ought to.”

With a flourishing bow, he presented his arm, and she took it, allowing him to lead her to the dance floor.

The charmed string instruments on the platform near the podium played a lively tune, and soon she was swept across the dance floor, feet moving in time to the rhythm. It was difficult keeping up with Malfoy.

When the music slowed down, morphing into a weepy, slow ballad, her partner switched his grip, tugging her a bit closer with an arm around her lower back.

She had to tilt her head back to look up at him, and when she did, she realised how close they were.

"You clean up nice, Granger."

“Wish I could say the same for you.” 

The hand that had settled on the dip of her spine slipped down to pinch her bum, and she squeaked in indignation.

“Be nice.” There was a teasing smile on his face that softened her irritation.

“ _Fine_. You look moderately dashing. Is that what you wanted to hear?”

“Just moderately?”

“Yes.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“Well, if I had to choose between you and Hagrid,” she paused, pretending to think it over, and throwing a faux-longing glance at the half-giant where he sat at a table across the room, “I’d probably choose Hagrid. I do so love a man with strong hands.”

“Bear paws, more like,” he muttered under his breath.

"What was that?"

“I’ll show you strong hands, witch.” 

The music picked up again, and he snatched her even tighter to him, dipping her back over his forearm before pulling her up, spinning her out of his arms, and drawing her back in. 

The faster they went, the tighter he held her, and by the time they were done, Hermione knew her flushed cheeks and racing heart had less to do with the dancing, and more to do with Draco’s proximity and his hands on her body.

* * *

"I can't believe he said that!"

Heels long since abandoned on the floor, Hermione paced back and forth in front of the fireplace in the common room.

"He's an old, stuck-in-his-ways pure-blood. I don't know why you're surprised that he said something disparaging." Malfoy watched her frantic pacing from his spot on the sofa.

"It's just—just so _infuriating._ "

The rude comment made by some old alumnus wasn't the sole reason for her frustration; it was just the catalyst. The Ball had gone exceptionally well, and she and Draco had been congratulated by the Headmistress for making the night a success. 

As everyone began to leave, Hermione and Draco were at the doors again, thanking guests for coming and bidding farewell to the alumni heading back to their homes.

Hermione had been busy with a sweet, elderly witch telling a story about her granddaughter when she heard an obnoxious voice speaking to Malfoy on the other side of the exit.

 _Terrible how Hogwarts has fallen apart_ , he'd said _._ _Now Mudbloods run alongside our children and grandchildren as if they earned the right. This used to be a place of pride!_

Draco's response had been quiet, so soft she could only make out a few words. His tone remained polite, but when Hermione had the chance to glance over at him, his jaw was clenched.

_—are changing._

_—better now for all._

_—a little respect, sir._

Though she hadn't heard much, she'd caught enough to know that Malfoy had stood up to the bitter, prejudiced wizard.

It was strange, the little flutter in her heart at the thought of the person she'd been at odds with for most of her life defending her, defending _Muggle-borns_.

The Wizarding world had changed with the war, and perhaps it was time for Hermione to realise she wasn't the only one that had been left a different person in its wake.

“Are you quite through with your meltdown now? Because if you are, I can think of a much better way to relax.” Draco's gaze turned hot, eyes running over her figure.

Did they really want to do this again? Hadn’t the first time been strange enough? Despite her inner misgivings, she wanted it—wanted _him._ She wanted the release sex with him could give her. And, if she were honest, it felt like more than just that, like some unknown force was drawing them together.

The light from the fireplace cast dancing shadows on his face as she sat beside him. He leaned in close, just a breath away. 

One hand rose, sliding behind her neck, and the other tugging at the end of a curl. Her eyes fell closed, shutting of their own accord as he leaned in and pressed his mouth to hers. 

He tasted of cherry cordial and a hint of whisky as he kissed her with just the right amount of pressure, laying his lips against her own, once, twice, three times. Catching her bottom lip in his teeth just hard enough to sting, his tongue soothed over the spot before sweeping into her mouth.

He smelled good, and he seemed to surround her, everywhere all at once. Her hands crept up his shoulders and behind his neck, sliding her fingers through the silky hair at his nape. 

Without realising it, she had climbed into his lap, pressing her body against his as his tongue danced into her mouth.

His hands felt like they were in ten places at once, digging into the flesh of her hip, cupping her jaw, roaming around her back to pull her even tighter against him. Their pace was slower than the last time they had come together in a frenzy, more controlled, but no less intense.

They were so close, but she wanted to get closer, go deeper. Draco must have picked up on her body language because he tipped her backwards, wrapping both arms around her and pushing her off his lap to lie below him on the sofa.

Sliding his hand under her shoulder, he propped himself up on one elbow and brought his free hand up to her face, stroking the back of his knuckles over her cheek as he brushed a bit of hair out of her eyes. 

Then the hand on her face was gone, snaking under her head, fingers tangling in her curls as he cradled the back of her head in his palm, trailing kisses down her throat.

Fingers brushed over her hip, slipping beneath her blouse to caress her skin. They danced up her side, over the dip in her waist and higher still, thumb stroking the underside of her breast. She moaned into his mouth when the pad of his thumb rubbed back and forth, her nipple pebbling under his attention. Arching into the sensation, she closed her eyes, a startled breath blowing out when he caught the pink tip between his fingers, pinching just enough to sting.

It felt good, and she wanted him to touch her all over, wanted to feel him, skin to skin this time—chest to chest.

Yeah, he’d given her a spectacular orgasm in their last encounter, but she hadn’t gotten to feel him—to touch him. 

When she began to raise her arms, ready to bury her hands in his hair and run them over his muscled shoulders, he pulled back, and she started to protest until she realised he was simply taking off his shirt. 

He pulled the shirt over his head, and then she was touching him, feeling the heat of his naked skin against her own. 

The glow from the fireplace cast shadows on the wall, and the warmth from the fire combined to form a little bubble, their own warm little hideaway.

Desire started as a simmer in her belly, building the more they touched. When she slipped her hands around the back of his neck, he bent his head to hers, and she captured his lips with her own, slow and sensual and dragging it out until it felt like she would incinerate from his kiss. His mouth slipped from hers, trailing along her jaw and down her throat, leaving wet kisses in his wake. Goosebumps danced on her skin, and she wanted _more, always more._

He cupped the back of her head in his hand, shifting so he lay flat on the couch and she sat above him, straddling his hips. He looked beautiful from here, eyes catching the firelight. She watched as his hands came up to her shirt, gently freeing the buttons from their moorings with none of the aggression from last time. 

This time, their pace was unhurried, and Hermione delighted in watching his face as he slowly revealed more of her body. Pushing the fabric off her shoulders, Hermione helped him slip it over and off her arms, leaning down to press herself to him the very second her hands were free.

The sensation of her body pressed up tight against him was divine. 

Not an inch of skin was left untouched. She explored him with hands and tongue, taking her time to relish in the feel of him beneath her fingers. 

His skin felt like smooth silk stretched over hard planes of muscle. In the low light of the fire, he was ethereal, practically glowing.

Kissing down his chest, she grazed her teeth over the barely-there point of his nipple, taking pride in the sound of his sudden intake of breath. While she was busy with his chest, Draco’s hands came to rest on her hips, dragging her over the hard ridge of his erection still concealed beneath his trousers. 

As he guided her back and forth, using his grip to grind her hips down into his, she ceased the movement of her hands against his torso, instead slowly brushing her fingers over her own skin, featherlight touches up the ladder of her ribs until she reached her breasts. Dragging her palms over her chest, she kneaded the soft flesh with her fingers, pinching and playing with her nipples until they were two hard little points. She enjoyed the way Draco’s eyes followed her movements as the pace of his ministrations sped up a bit. 

“You look incredible right now,” she said into his ear. At a particularly eager thrust that made the hardness of him fit perfectly against the softness of her, she let out a little grunt.

Leaning down, she whispered against his mouth, “I want you.”

It was as if her words were a spark of electricity. His eyes darkened and he moved quickly, urging her hips to raise up so he could unfasten the placket of his trousers. 

She pulled her leg up, fingers tugging up the hem of her dress as she moved to stand and slide her knickers off when he stopped her.

“No need.”

He pulled aside the gusset of her knickers, rubbing the proof of her arousal up and over her skin before sinking two fingers inside of her, slowly pumping in and out. 

Her head fell back when he curled his fingers and hit just the right spot, thumb rubbing steady circles into her clit. He brought her right up to the edge, holding back just enough so she couldn’t fall over, and she was nearly ready to scream when he slipped his fingers from her, using his wet and glistening fingers to stroke himself a few times. He bumped the head of his cock against her cloth-covered core, sending little bursts of lightning through her belly.

Finally, blessedly, he hooked his index fingers in her knickers again, pulling the fabric aside. Then he was sliding in, and she was stretching around him, and the slight burn as her muscles adjusted only stoked the fire threatening to consume her.

Hands returning to her hips, Draco gripped her tightly, thumbs pressing the points of her hip bones. When she began to move above him, he guided her movements, setting a rhythm she fell into. The heat from the fireplace was warm against her exposed skin, and it had a dreamy effect, melting any residual tension down and out of her body.

When he did some fancy swivel like thing with his hips, she nearly saw stars. She fell forward, hands bracing against Draco’s chest, her head dipping down enough to brush the ends of her curls against his skin. With each upward thrust, he pulled her down hard, eliciting a choked moan from her each time.

Her thighs started to burn with the strain of raising up and dropping down, nearly giving out. As she started to lose the strength in her legs, Draco tightened his grip on her, completely controlling her movements and easing the strain on her muscles. All she had to do was sit there and take it.

He kept lifting her up and down until she started to lose her voice from the constant whimpers and moans. Switching to one hand on his chest, she reached down to where they were joined, fingers clumsily bumping her clit and making her tighten around him. She concentrated her attention in that one little spot, saying his name one last time as she shattered, closing her eyes and seeing nothing but bright bursts of colour behind her eyelids.

He thrust his hips up as he yanked her down, little hiccupping movements jolting her body as he came.

As the intense rush started to drain from them, Hermione collapsed fully on his chest, unable to hold herself up for even one more second. Draco’s hand rested on her lower back, thumb stroking lightly over the dimples above her arse.

Sweat had made each of them dewy, and Hermione could feel strands of her hair catch on the slick skin of her neck.

“Did you mean it when you said you’d thought about this—about us—before?”

“Yes.”

She didn’t speak, drawing patterns on the skin of his chest with the hand tucked between their bodies.

The firm chest beneath her lifted on a deep sigh. “You’re not going to accept that answer, are you?”

Though he couldn’t see her face, she smiled, just a little, one side of her mouth twitching up.

“Probably not.”

“It’s not all that exciting. I just, sixth year, you looked at me. And not like Weasley and Potter were looking at me. It was different. You saw me. I was so lost in my tasks, so lost in my fear for my mother and my family, and when you looked at me, it was like you knew. There wasn’t pity on your face like I’d expected, but compassion. Like you knew the enormity of my burden was weighing so heavily on me and you were sorry. You, who had done absolutely nothing to be sorry for. I don’t know how else to explain it, Granger. That look on your face stuck with me through everything that came next, through the final battle, and it's remained with me in the aftermath.”

Hermione was quiet as he continued.

“I have been wrong about a lot of things in my life, and I—" he paused for a beat, drawing in a slow breath. "I think you might be something that’s finally right.”

It took a moment for his words to sink in. When they did, she shifted just enough to press her lips against the hollow of his throat, speaking, "Yeah?" against his skin.

There was the hint of a smile in his voice when he said, "Yeah."

She traced her fingers through the smattering of hair on his chest, steadying herself before speaking. “So…” She was grateful he couldn't see her face as she worked up the courage to ask her next question. “Would you want to go out sometime?”

Her brief reprieve ended when he shifted beneath her, fingers softly tugging her hair until she propped her chin up on his chest to look at his face.

“We’re working backwards here.” Draco smirked.

“Variety is the spice of life.”

Hermione took pride in the laugh she pulled from him. She hadn’t heard him laugh much. It was nice.

Poking her finger at his shoulder, she asked again. “Well?”

“Sure, Granger. Let’s go on a date.”


End file.
